Karate Testing:
Published: 12-12-2012
By Spencer Sensei
Testing is a waste of time and money unless the student learns from the experience. It has been over three decades since my first promotion test, and honestly, I don’t remember being all that anxious about the outcome. My instructor tested the white belts first, so if there was anxiety it was short lived. I still remember sitting on the cold floor as the higher ranks were tested in succession wondering if one day I too would be in that position. Sensei had us well prepared for everything on the test. This was one reason for my confidence. I knew he would not test me before I was ready. Since my first testing experience I have trained in several different systems and have at some point been tested in all of them. Some tests were technical while others were simply brutal. I have passed black-belt tests and failed black-belt tests. Through all these experiences I always asked myself the same question, “What if anything did I learn from this test?” If I did not gain anything from the experience, It wasted my time and I chalked to another empty exercise designed to stroke someone’s ego or to line someone’s pocket book.
The purpose of lower rank testing, in my opinion, is to show the student and the student’s family their progressing. Studying karate takes a great sacrifice of time and money. A sacrifice of either adds pressure on the student’s family and friends. The return-on-investment is only quantifiable by the student. Many times, the pressure of everyday life makes the price too high and prematurely ends a karateka’s career. Sometimes the tedium of training is too much. Discipline always comes at a price. Promotion is the tangible reward for that sacrifice. Testing is the yard stick; the student uses to measure his/her progress.
Passing a student can bolster their confidence, but failing a student is not always a bad thing. If a student is pressing for promotion, giving him/her a test and allowing them to fail can reinforce the notion that they need to trust that their instructor will promote them when they’re truly ready. There is an unwritten rule in the martial arts, and that is a student should never ask for promotion. This includes a young student’s parents. If the parent is pressing to have their child promoted, public failure of a test can be a good lesson for both parent and child. The wisdom of failure should be reinforced. A failed student should be told that failure really only happens when you quit trying. They should be encouraged to continue their training and not let this be a setback. Life is filled with failure and busting a karate test when you’re very young can teach life lessons. Today many youth activities like baseball do not keep score for fear of damaging a child’s self-esteem. Keeping a child cloistered in an environment void of failure does not prepare them for life. More lessons can be learned through failure than from success. Karate is a safe environment to learn how to deal with failure.
I’ve taken several black-belt tests. Some were very technical while others were designed to push you past your self-imposed limitations. The latter can be brutal. From the earliest days of black-belt promotion, many systems made their test a right-of-passage. They developed a weeding-out process where only the strong survived. It became, in some styles, a trial by fire. I can speak on this topic because I’ve been through both the technical and the hardcore testing formats. Experience allows me the objectivity to weight the pros and cons of each, yet my focus here is hardcore testing. Remember that I earlier wrote that testing should have a purpose. Well… the hardcore tests did have a purpose. The reason for the system’s difficult testing was to show the student that he/she is capable of going farther than their mind tells them they can. In a real combat situation, the battle is not lost until you surrender, yet the bodies protective mechanism will tell you to stop long before it is necessary. Many long-distance runners experience this biofeedback. At some point in the race, they hit a self-imposed limit and their mind tells them to back-off, but when they hit that wall they simply push through and continue to run. Understanding that there is a barrier between perceived safe ground and real safe ground can save your life. From this standpoint I see there is some value to their philosophy, but in my case I had trained so hard that I never reached the point where my brain screamed out for me to give-up. Though the test lasted five or six hours, I never had to crash through that barrier. Ironically enough, I hit that wall a few times as I was preparing for the test. During moments of exhaustion, while pushing my body in preparation for my moment in the sun, my mind occasionally would ask,” Why are you doing this? Is it really worth all this pain?” Truthfully, I was so focused on the belt promotion that the thought never lasted long enough for me to dwell upon it. The black-belt was a dragon that I had to slay, so I drove myself past those self-imposed limits while training. Achieving black-belt was something I always believed was out of my reach. Receiving it, opened a world of possibilities yet unexplored, and in my mind justified the ordeal. One positive of the whole affair, was that preparation for this test forced me to train harder and made me more physically fit than ever in my life. On the con side, other than being beat-up, bruised, and exhausted, I am not sure what I learned from the experience. I still do no know my true physical limitations, and at my age truthfully, I have no real desire to find it.
Hardcore testing is not for every student, but in some cases a young person may need to go through that right-of-passage to feel they are worthy of their elevation in rank. This is not true of all students. I believe the purpose of karate is to build people and not warriors. This kind of testing is fine for young students but places the black-belt out of reach for older karateka. Older men and women have wisdom, but their bodies cannot take the pounding of such a test. Their technique is good, and they patiently instruct lower ranks, but they cannot break a pile of wood and bricks nor fight fifteen rounds. In schools that practice the hard ways these students simply fade away, so what does this type of testing really teach? It teaches that karate is for the young and strong and not for the old and wise. This is in my opinion contrary to the basic philosophical purpose of karate. Martial arts can help improve the health and character of students’ young and old alike. I have no doubt younger instructors will disagree with me on this point, but after my decades of training this is what I now believe. Tomorrow is another day and a new life lesson. Who knows I may change my mind and we could be breaking wood with our faces once again? For now, I believe hardcore testing has situational limitations.
The purpose of the black-belt test is not for the instructor nor is it for the black-belt promotion panel. It is for the student. Not unlike lower rank testing. My testing has become a blend of the mental and physical. I value the candidate’s reaction to stress as-much-as technique. Still, it must be understood that without good technique and real fighting skills there would be no opportunity for promotion. The student has prepared for the physical part since the day they first began karate, but the mental aspect is more difficult. Their everyday training should have taught them how to redefine pain. The question is how to test their character? Placing a student under stress, is good way of doing this. The question is, “How do you stress a student in a positive manner?” In our school we place pressure on the students in various ways. In the final months of our brown belt training, we focus on Sanchin kata. Sanchin is a kata they have worked on since yellow belt, but the testing aspects are introduced at this stage. I am certain they’ve watched film on this test, and have seen what appears, on the surface, to be a beating. I do not subject them to the physical part until the day of the test. They intellectually know what is coming but have never had the experience. Other black-belt instructors, during this period, talk to the brown-belt students about their introduction into the physical realm of Sanchin testing. Some tell harrowing tales of that experience while others dismiss it completely. I may mention, to the candidates, in passing, that a big bad wolf from another city maybe coming into town just for their test. In life we face the unknown, yet we cannot let the fear of the unknown impact our public behavior or our behavior towards our loved ones. Pressure tests the character of the candidate. As the test date approaches, stress builds because the candidate understands that within a period of a three hour test they will leave in triumph or go home in failure. We face failure everyday, and when the candidates show-up for the test I know that they have overridden their fear and are prepared to dive into unknown waters. The black-belt test covers all aspects of the student’s training from basic stances, blocks, and strikes to the performance of black-belt kata. They fight, demonstrate power on the bag, break both wood and bricks, and are quizzed on how they would react to hypothetical problems that might occur in the dojo. Most importantly they are asked why they want to be a black-belt. Lastly, we test Sanchin kata. It is the boogieman. It is their running of the gauntlet. It is the moment they leave kyu rank and enter dan rank. It is the moment of truth, and from this experience they will craft the stories that they will share with the next generation of candidates. In the end they’re fatigued, bruised, frazzled, and always disappointed with their performance, but mostly they’re filled with a sense of accomplishment. Hopefully they walk away with something greater than the testing experience alone. Yes… I‘ve changed my philosophy on the black-belt test, but hopefully I have given it greater purpose than it had earlier in my career.
As mentioned earlier in this article at some point during the test a student is ask what it means to be a black-belt. It is an important that they formulate however rudimentary a reason for their quest. As the student black-belt matures there reasons will change. There is no right or wrong answer, but for some students black-belt is a life changing phenomenon, and for others it is simply a goal that once obtained is soon forgotten. In Byong Yu’s book Inside U he writes about his sacrifice and the difficulty of his training, and also of the pain he felt with each failure of his promotion testing. He recalls watching others receiving their colored belts, and flaunting the victory in his face. Painful as it was, he did not quit. Unlike his peers he had to overcome a genetic disorder that slowed his progress, but eventually he obtained the rank of black-belt. Upon receiving his belt he waited for a quiet moment with his instructor to explain what the black-belt meant to him. This is an excerpt from Byong Yu’s book.
“Excuse me, sir” Byong said after clearing a frog from his throat. “Yes?” replied his instructor in his usual expressionless monotone. “I just wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for me. I know it has not been easy for you, and I have been a very hard student to teach. Much of the time I had two left feet and always seemed to take forever to get it right. I think I have taken more mother love (punishment) than any other student here. Even with my cleaning the school for you, I often felt it probably wasn’t worth all the extra attention you have given me.” “I am a teacher son. Not all students are the same,” his instructor replied. “Yes, I know, but I wanted to point something out that means a lot to me.” Byong paused, waiting to see if he was overstepping his bounds. “Yes?” his instructor continued. “Well, when I first cane here, there were many students who were a lot better than me. That’s not saying much, I know, but these guys really seemed like they had everything working in their favor. Over the years I watched them receive one promotion after the next, while I stayed a white belt. Some of them even made red belt (brown belt) which was something I only dreamed about. Many times they waved their belts in my face, but I refused to quit. Anyway now that I’m a black-belt, I suddenly realized they’re not here anymore. They quit, but I’m still here, and now I’m a higher rank than they were when they left. It took me a whole lot longer. I guess what I want you to know is that I appreciate all you have put with in my training, and I’m going to stay here as long as you’ll continue to train me… sir.” Byong Yu for the first time saw a trace of a tear in his old master’s eye.
Black-belt means different things to different students, to Byong Yu it meant never giving up. I’ve seen men and women return to college after black-belt promotion. They never thought they could get through higher education, but after making black-belt they realized it is all about preparation and hard work. Promotion teaches the student that what may appear impossible is possible through hard work, discipline, and like Byong Yu a never quit attitude.
After black-belt one question a new black-belt may ponder is what determines the duration between promotions in the black-belt ranks? In some styles it is when the head of the school or organization feels the student ready for the next step. My school follows the Federation of All Japan Karate Do Organization’s standards (F.A.J.K.O). We do this even though we are not affiliated with the organization. In the F.A.J.K.O. the period required between promotions is based upon time. Here is sample of the durations: two years between 1st-dan (shodan) and 2nd-dan (nidan), three years between 2nd-dan and 3rd-dan (sandan), four years between 3rd-dan and 4th-dan (yondan), five years between 4th-dan and 5th-dan (godan), six years between 5th-dan and 6th-dan (rokudan), and so forth to 9th-dan. In the F.A.J.K.O. this formula flows all the way to 10th-dan, but I feel only the founder of a system should hold the rank of 10th-dan. This is only my personal belief, and many systems place the organization’s head-instructor at this rank. High rank demands maturity. It takes three to four years to become a shodan, and then it takes a little more than forty more years to achieve ninth-dan. Any one holding this rank should be in their late fifties or early sixties. Remember following these guidelines means non-stop training and teaching. If a student disappears for awhile their time should stop but remember these are only guidelines. If a student becomes undisciplined or causes internal organizational problems, his/her time can justifiably be increased between promotions. Ultimately promotion is determined by the organization, but in my opinion high rank requires high maturity and knowledge.
Some systems leave promotions up to the individual schools, yet in other organizations only the head of the system can issue a black-belt certification. This means testing before someone that does not know you or your skill level, so testing is the only way they can be certain that you meet their criteria. The downside of this means that if you make a mistake the test is over, and you get to try again next year. The upside is each black-belt’s skill level will be comparable. I am neither pro nor con on this methodology. I am however a strong believer that black-belt testing should be done before a panel of knowledgeable teachers and not simply the school’s head instructor. A panel of black-belts lends credibility to the student’s promotion. A panel also places added pressure on the student. Whether you join an organization or maintain your autonomy is up to the black-belt. It truly is an individual decision.
Another aspect that is lost in the American dojo is the ceremony that should accompany black-belt promotion. Each school should have their own ceremonies to usher the candidate into the ranks of black-belt. Most schools have a banquet after the test, and this is okay, but there should be ceremony before and after testing, so that when the student promotes to black-belt they can always carry special memories of that time with them. Moments like this are not created on the dojo floor during the test. They must be formed at a special place like the sensei’s home, and the event should be held with only black-belt instructors and candidates. Our ceremony happens at my home. We bring the candidates into my home dojo and go over the Sanchin kata testing in detail. We discuss the purpose of each movement within the kata as-well-as how it should be tested. Potential errors in the form and how to test for these mistakes are explained in detail to both black-belt instructors and students, so when we they meet the next day, before promotion, everyone knows their role. Black-belts know who they will be testing and the student will know their inquisitor. Lastly, we circle around the tatami while one instructor hands each person a cup and another pours a non-alcoholic libation. Once everyone has a drink, a senior instructor will quote a scripture or something they feel will aid the student on their life’s journey and then we end with the final toast. Our toast goes like this: “Raise your glass to the young tigers (candidates) and to the old tigers (black-belts present), and to those tigers no longer with us.” He/she then shouts “Salute” and we all drink together. This is our ceremony to promote brotherhood and welcome the candidates into our martial arts family. Other styles have their own ceremonies. It may seem silly, but these are the moments you’ll look back on when you’re older, and not the punches and kicks delivered during Sanchin kata.
Not all aspects of promotion testing are highly evolved. Many schools operate on a shoestring, and testing is a good revenue stream. I’m a business major and a cost analyst, so I understand business practice. Some schools resort to countless steps in their ranking process to keep that revenue rolling in. Many parents have no problem with this because promotion in karate gives grandparents, moms, and dads bragging rights at work and church. Endless stripes on the student’s belt may increase their self-esteem, but not when it is done like clockwork and is given without merit. This type of testing serves little purpose except to keep the doors of the dojo open. Many instructors teach in a location where they don’t have to worry about overheads, so they do not understand the importance of keeping the doors open and demean this practice. I’m personally ambivalent. I choose to teach at church, so my overhead is low. I’m not forced to charge a lot for lessons or promotions, but for the instructor with high overheads and a large student turnover this may well be a necessary evil just to keep the dojo running. If it is simply done to increase a dojo’s profit margin, then that becomes an ethical issue and should be condemned. As already stated not all aspects of testing are positive.
Testing in my opinion should always be for the student’s benefit and not the instructor or the organizations. I always remind the student that this moment their time in the sun. It is a moment to strut, and to show their martial arts knowledge and skill. It isn’t a moment to be shrouded with potential failure and defeat. A karateka’s fist black-belt test should be both terrifying and exhilarating, and each moment should be savored and not gulped down like cheap wine. It only happens once.
My class just went through black-belt testing. Grown men became stressed. One student fought his doubt and buckled down and studied hard. One student didn’t feel ready and chose not to test, while another allowed his misgivings to show during his performance. What the students didn’t realize was that the test had already come and gone before they ever stepped onto the dojo floor. That final month of fine tuning before they stood before the black-belt panel was the real test. It was a test of character. It was a battle against the unknown. It was a battle against self doubt. The test was to see who was and who was not ready. It was a test of priorities. It was the slaying of personal dragons for some. It was a quieting of every voice that said, “You can’t do it.” If each student left with something tangible, beyond a black piece of cloth designed to hold up their pants, the test was a success… if not it was a failure.